


If and When

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-27
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-10-31 19:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It took Dave awhile to realize he and John had stopped plotting what they'd do if he visited. It'd been something that crept into late night conversations, shuffled itself between lines of John's awe-inspiring word-vomit about whatever the hell had given him a nerd boner that day and Dave's sweet spiels about the sicknasty beats he'd been laying down lately.</p><p>But it was okay, because they'd switched to plotting what they'd do <i>when</i> he visited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nachte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nachte/gifts).



It took Dave awhile to realize he and John had stopped plotting what they'd do if he visited. It'd been something that crept into late night conversations, shuffled itself between lines of John's awe-inspiring word-vomit about whatever the hell had given him a nerd boner that day and Dave's sweet spiels about the sicknasty beats he'd been laying down lately.

They made lists of what movies they'd watch. Or really, what movies John would watch. Alone, Dave assured him. Because that dumb shit was all kinds of contagious and he didn't need it rubbing off on him. John's extraordinary levels of dork were already bad enough, and repeated exposure over the years had brought Dave to almost, very nearly, agree to watch some of those stupid movies with him.

He guessed it wouldn't be too bad. Watching terrible movies on purpose was pretty high up the ironic echeladder, and if it made John happy in the process it'd be like killing two birds with one dope stone. Caw caw, motherfuckers.

It had been during one of these rounds of cinema discussion that Dave had first noticed the change.

EB: okay how about crossroads, have you ever seen that?  
TG: no but my shit detector isnt going off yet so you should probably tell me about it  
EB: alright, so it has got some pretty good actors.  
TG: uh oh man im picking up some early readings on this baby  
EB: hear me out okay?  
TG: hey man i never said stop  
EB: dan aykroyd is in it.  
TG: okay so this might not be the worst movie ever then  
EB: and so is kim cattrall.  
TG: whoa hold up theres been a sudden spike in the detector it went off the charts for a sec  
TG: thats one of those broads from sex in the city isnt it?  
EB: she's a good actor! plus she's a mature and beautiful woman.  
TG: should i be steeling myself  
TG: i feel theres a final devastating blow coming my way  
TG: youre trying to hide it with all these other names  
TG: a seven layer bean dip of actors  
TG: and were about to get to those shitty D-list olives  
EB: it is a britney spears movie.  
TG: fuck  
TG: you broke the detector  
TG: if only written word could wholly encapsulate the smell of burnt flesh and pain of the plastic fragments now lodged in my skin from the explosion  
EB: i'll buy you a new one, don't worry.  
TG: this is the fifth one youve ruined  
TG: they better have some kind of buy five get one free  
TG: hit up costco see if you can snag some in bulk  
EB: you would like the movie if you gave it a shot!  
EB: look, i know britney spears does not sound all that appealing, but this is really her coming of age debut.  
TG: dude i thought you would grow out of this but  
TG: nope  
TG: youve made your bed  
TG: a bed out of terrible movies that smells like bad box office turnout and straight to dvd releases  
TG: and you are diggin that shit  
TG: youre in that bed all hibernating like sleeping beauty  
TG: waiting for your one true nic cage to awaken you with a kiss  
EB: okay fine we don't have to watch crossroads!  
EB: i get it, i get it, you don't want to watch any movies when i visit.  
TG: oh dude hold up i never said i didnt want to watch movies  
TG: i just dont want to watch terrible movies  
EB: they're not that terrible! and even if they are what's the worst that could happen?  
EB: you would just like, not laugh or smile or something, which is pretty normal dave behavior anyway i think??  
TG: no man it could go a lot deeper than that  
TG: the title screen could play and ill see jennifer lopezs face and just go into a blind rage  
TG: go apeshit on anything close to me  
TG: cool ass dude kills friend over movie details at 11  
TG: six months later or whatever its back on the news  
TG: cool ass dude enters self defense and insanity plea after being coerced into watching marathon of hugh grant flicks by friend  
TG: thered be a huge public outpouring of sympathy and shit and id get off scott free  
EB: haha i guess that could happen somehow.  
EB: except that i don't like romcoms so hugh grant can kiss my ass?  
EB: but fine, because you are a tremendous baby we don't have to watch any of my movies.  
EB: you better pick out some good ones for us to watch, though!  
TG: dont even worry i will have this shit on lock when you get here  
EB: ehehe good, i will leave it to you then.  
TG: put your trust in me and you wont regret it  
EB: like i could ever regret anything about you!  
EB: is it stupid to feel so ridiculously excited about this?  
TG: its okay i have that sort of effect on people  
EB: anyway i think i hear dad starting his crazy 5 am baking so i am going to head to bed  
EB: talk to you tomorrow, dave!  
TG: see you on the flipside homeskillet

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 06:57 -- 

Dave stood with a tired groan, bare feet dragging for the few steps it took to reach his bed. He hit the mattress with a thud, still dressed in day clothes and too worn out to do anything about it. He fished his shades from his face, muscle memory depositing them on the desk that served as his bedside table. 

The chirp of birds filtered through his head, threads of early sunlight streaming through the crack between his heavy black blanket nailed haphazardly above the window. He brought his hands up and pressed the heels of his palms against his closed eyes, harder and harder until there was nothing but light, blotchy and white and all consuming.

He didn't think about how late─ or really, how early it was. At least with high school now a thing of the past, he didn't have to worry that Bro would waltz in sooner rather than later to wake him, or flat-out flip his bed over to get him up. And he seriously, in no way ever at all, thought about how his heart had done triple Salchow jump that would get any skater on the podium when John said how excited he was. Those words didn't even mean anything, nothing more than something courtesy obliged John to type.

Not to mention Dave's stupid heart-related figure skating antics were just from stacking Rockstars and Red Bulls to keep him awake and coherent enough to talk to John. That was what friends did, after all. Stayed up stupid-late and fuck the consequences. 

He did, however, think about how John and he had stopped talking about what they'd do if he visited.

And how they'd started talking about what they'd do _when_ he visited. 

  



	2. Chapter 2

EB: so is your bro going to be okay with me visiting?  
TG: yeah man  
TG: why wouldnt he be  
EB: i don't know, he might not be down with strangers from the internet visiting his little brother.  
TG: nah its fine  
TG: i mean whats the worst you could do  
TG: make my bed or some shit  
EB: well i guess there are definitely worse people than me on the internet.  
EB: have you told him about it yet?  
TG: no  
TG: bro is like those sweet ass tigers at the zoo  
TG: everyone wants to see him but  
TG: theyre elusive as hell and cant be bothered to let you see them unless they damn well feel like it  
TG: also with work and all were never home at the same time  
EB: oh yeah, that is true.  
EB: he must be proud of you getting a job though!  
EB: i know i am.  
TG: he doesnt know yet  
TG: were just two dope ships passing in the night  
TG: actually i havent seen him in like a week  
EB: what? that is pretty crazy. aren't you worried or anything?  
TG: nah  
TG: electricity is still on so someones paying the bills  
EB: well you are going to have a lot of news to tell him once you do find him!  
EB: how is work going for you, anyway? are you having lots of fun?  
TG: egbert  
TG: i want you to take a moment to create a fantastically long list of every activity that could be considered fun  
TG: and i mean pull out all the stops  
TG: slap down soap whittling even  
TG: add a pinch of tibetan throat singing  
TG: now on that list do you see anywhere at all the activity of sandwich making  
EB: it could be fun! i mean, you could get all creative with it and make new sandwiches up. or maybe your coworkers are fun?  
TG: i guess theyre okay  
TG: the manager is an interesting guy  
TG: born without an inside voice or some shit  
TG: cranking that volume up to 11 whenever he talks  
TG: dude is the physical manifestation of a megaphone  
TG: lays down burns so sick youll need a skin graft afterwards though  
TG: at least when they actually make sense and arent composed of rabid barking  
TG: its 50/50  
EB: well at least that's some kind of excitement to get you through the day.  
EB: and you never know! you could end up making new friends.  
EB: and even if you end up hating them all you can always complain to me about it, ehehe.  
EB: do you have work tomorrow? or i guess it would be today, now.  
TG: yeah  
TG: another day at the salt mines is on my to do list  
EB: oh man, i must be keeping you awake then. you should go to bed if you're tired!  
TG: no way dude  
TG: this bad boy here doesnt need sleep  
TG: i have transcended sleep as you know it  
TG: enough about me though  
TG: hows your job hunt going?  
EB: could be going better, i think.  
EB: dad says not to worry about it, but i want to start saving already.  
EB: i did get a call back from blockbuster, so we willl see how that goes.  
EB: i've never had an interview before, can i maybe get some points from the master??  
TG: trip the light fantastic with them about your sordid love affairs with adam sandlers entire filmography  
TG: they will welcome you to their breast at once  
TG: into the flock you will go  
TG: content to live amongst your shitty movie loving brethren  
TG: if all else fails put those gnarly chompers to work and bite them  
EB: how did i never think of that before?  
EB: all this time looking for a job, i should have just maimed someone with my mouth.  
EB: which certainly wouldn't lead to legal troubles or anything no sirree.   
TG: exactly  
TG: its a dog eat dog world  
TG: john eat dog really  
TG: remind me to never get you a dog  
EB: haha like i'd ever eat a dog.  
EB: speaking of eating though, i'm kinda hungry.  
EB: i'm gonna go make a midnight snack.  
EB: be back in a sec.  
TG: alright  
EB: back!  
EB: dave?  
EB: daaaave?  
EB: air control to dave strider, do you read me? over.  
EB: actually you know how movies always use over and out?  
EB: that doesn't even make sense.  
EB: over means you're done talking and you're waiting for a reply, but out means you're done talking and don't want a reply.  
EB: also i am starting to think you haven't transcended sleep so well.  
EB: and that you are probably asleep at the computer and basically i am talking to myself.  
EB: alright now i'm just sure of it, so i'm heading to bed too.  
EB: sleep well!  
EB: i guess you already are though.  
EB: ehehe.

Dave awoke in bed, and under the covers. Neither of which he remembered doing. Sure he'd been tired while talking with John, and maybe he slunk off to bed without realized, but he could never be bothered to do anything more than flop onto the mattress and pass out. Not to mention the covers were tucked in mysteriously tight.

Yeah. That was weird.

He scrubbed a hand over his face as he sat up, kicking off the heavy blankets and patting around for his shades. His thoughts came together in a still-sleepy haze, sifted through smoldering snapshots of dreams quickly burning out. 

He remembered how tired his eyes had been, how his muscles ached and he sagged back against his seat when John went to make food. He'd tried to keep himself going, grabbed the pamphlet they'd given him at work that day for new employees. It had all the basics. Don't pick your nose, don't spit in food, and scratching your ass was a no-no. Also, lick the customers' boots with a smile.

It was the same jargon he'd had pounded into his head at the other jobs he'd worked─ or tried to work. So far they'd all cramped his Strider style to an extent that'd he'd blown each and every popsicle joint within a week. That was before 'if' had changed to 'when.' This time he'd stick it out, have his shit together by the time John came to visit. 

And that was it. Like the end of a movie reel, Dave's memories flickered out, fast forwarded to the here and now.

With a long, languid stretch that slid from his spine to his arms, Dave hauled himself from bed, his first stop to check his computer. Sure enough he saw pesterchum still running, showing John's little movie lingo lesson. The little dweeb always did start talking movie magic when he didn't know what else to do. He'd bag that Blockbuster job like no one's business with the way he could babble.

Dave closed pesterchum with one hand, the other slipping up his shirt to lazily scratch at his stomach. He still had a few hours before work, another shift of slapping sandwiches together and acting like he had even the most remote interest in how the customer was doing. The idea alone made him blood curdle, but the reminder of what it would make possible made it vaguely bearable. 

Driven by the dull ache of hunger, Dave padded out to the kitchen. It was a fruitless venture more often than not, but sometimes he'd find a half-finished bag of pork rinds or kid-sized carton of apple juice. This time though, there was a treat waiting for him.

Well, as much of a treat as a clear plastic case of store-bought cookies could be. And with the frosting eaten off of three of them already. Not to mention the big red 'clearance' tag that was slapped on next to the expiration date. It was three days past bad.

Sitting next to the cookies was Dave's work pamphlet of common sense for douche nozzles and the medically brain-dead.

It was the closest thing to a congratulations Dave knew.


	3. Chapter 3

EB: dave, how do you know if someone likes you?  
TG: yeah its nice to see you too  
EB: haha, sorry, i guess i'm just all over the place.  
TG: alright dude lay it down for me  
TG: i got the beat rolling and the bass thumping so lets hear some sweet licks about johns lady problems  
EB: it is raining women!  
TG: hallelujah  
TG: whip out the rain gauge  
TG: collect some of that drizzle so that when it stops  
TG: you can taste the past  
TG: and mourn that it will never be again  
EB: no way, dude.  
EB: ladies love a man in uniform and with smarts.  
TG: khaki pants and a shirt that can only be described as violently blue isnt really the sort of uniform ladies swoon over  
TG: but im sure your ability to recall every time a boom mic pops into the shot in wicker man makes the panties drop  
TG: ladies be all up on that sorta shit  
EB: i know, right?  
EB: after all, egbert is old norse for 'chick magnet.'  
TG: how do you even fit through doorways with such a big head?  
EB: very carefully.  
EB: i go sideways.  
TG: dude that makes even less sense  
TG: anyway my little egbert is finally growing up  
TG: joining the ranks of real men by winding up the ladies  
TG: ive had lines of broads for years now  
TG: going around the block and camping out like they want in on some black friday deals  
TG: but this sweetacular hunk of man meat aint no door buster  
TG: dont let me soak up all your glory though while you have your fine femme mist  
TG: meanwhile i have a torrential downpour of ladies  
TG: a tropical storm approaching hurricane levels  
TG: had to move to higher ground and put sandbags under the door because they were starting to leak in  
TG: shit what youre probably getting is the runoff i bet  
TG: so about these lady problems  
EB: well i wouldn't really call it a problem.  
EB: but basically, we got a new manager. i think she is a transfer from out of state or something. she has one of those kooky celebrity-baby names.  
EB: i didn't talk a whole lot to her at first, and she was kinda the same way.  
EB: but then i think she overheard me telling a customer about the ghost rider sequel and after i was done dealing with the customer, she came over and asked if i liked nic cage.  
EB: and, uh, well, it turns out she really likes him a lot too.  
TG: oh my god  
TG: youre a fucking liar  
TG: there is no ghost rider sequel  
TG: i bet there isnt even a lady  
TG: this is a cry for help and attention  
TG: damn man  
TG: how much attention do you need?  
TG: thats it im getting a baby bjorn  
TG: stuff you in my papoose and take you everywhere with me 24/7  
EB: there is a ghost rider sequel and my manager is a real person!  
EB: man, i should have known you wouldn't believe me.  
EB: i figured you would think i was lying if i told you what she looks like, but you've already gone and jumped the gun.  
TG: wait hold up  
TG: is she hot?  
TG: if you cracked an egg on that ass how long do you think itd take to fry  
EB: uh, i can't say i have given that much thought.  
EB: i generally do not rate women's looks by figuring out how fast an egg would cook on their butt.  
TG: alright fine use the stupid 1-10 scale  
EB: well she is not really conventionally pretty, i don't think.  
TG: is that code for her having an extra limb or something  
EB: kind of the opposite, actually.  
TG: what  
EB: she's got like a prosthetic arm. and also i think her eye is busted too, since she wears these funny glasses.  
EB: well like, one lense is normal glasses like mine, but the other is like sunglasses!  
EB: maybe she got those transitional lenses and one of them broke.  
TG: alright so let me get this straight  
TG: you got a new manager who likes nic cage and is missing all sorts of shit and you think she wants your dick?  
EB: whoa, i wouldn't say she wants that. that is kind of an extreme and a huge, illogical jump.  
EB: but the rest is right, yeah.  
TG: wow egbert  
TG: you think im that stupid?  
TG: that you can cook up this bullshit stew and spoon feed me it  
TG: open wide here comes the airplane  
TG: well guess what  
TG: clearance not granted  
TG: find another runway   
EB: okay, see, i had a feeling you were going to be like this.  
EB: she friended me on facebook  
EB: so i maybe saved one of her photos.  
TG: becoming more of an internet creeper every day i see  
TG: making me proud to be your friend  
TG: now cough it up  
\-- ectoBiologist [EB] sent turntechGodhead [TG] file IMG_210_239.jpg --  
TG: that dame is crazy  
EB: what?  
TG: she has crazy eyes  
TG: eye  
TG: and i dont trust that hair  
EB: well i guess she can be sort of weird sometimes.  
EB: but i'm sure it has been stressful for her to move stores and everything.  
TG: shes crazy and you know it  
TG: but you cant see past the fact she could have the hots for you  
TG: maybe the crazy is even a draw  
TG: here we see the flighty and rare egbert hummingbird flitting from flower to flower for food  
TG: here we see him unwittingly going for the carnivorous bloculus managarius plant  
TG: draw by the sweet smell of its crazy nectar  
TG: and here we dont see him at all because his dumb ass got eaten up  
EB: i am reading this in morgan freeman's voice.  
TG: you better be  
EB: alright, so maybe she is a bit nutso, but it's not like i am going to get with her or anything. i don't even really like her that way.  
EB: actually it is probably against company policy or something.  
EB: and there is no way i'm risking the chance to see you over some chick.  
TG: thats a good boy  
TG: the only thing you need is a bromance  
TG: a tale as old as time  
TG: the coolkid and the beast  
EB: haha, yes.  
EB: the most heartwarming story out there.  
EB: but yeah, i just wanted to know if there was a way to tell or not.  
TG: why?  
EB: why not? i mean, it would make things a lot simpler.  
EB: if you knew someone liked you, and you liked them too, you could go for it.  
TG: alright  
TG: think of all the people you have ever invested an ounce of romantic interest in  
EB: done.  
TG: dude that was like a fraction of a second  
TG: is your list just nic cage and thats it?  
EB: how did you know! i have been found out.  
EB: but nah, it's just pretty short.  
TG: have you ever thought one of them liked you back  
EB: well i kind of get that vibe from them, but i think it's just me projecting or something.  
TG: have you told them how you feel?  
EB: um, no.  
EB: i do not think it'd go over too well.  
EB: have you ever told someone that you liked them?  
TG: fuck no  
TG: i dont live in an abc family movie  
TG: spewing out my feelings left and right  
TG: this isnt about me anyway  
TG: i know this may sound weird coming from a such a hot blooded fine young specimen such as much  
TG: but  
TG: there are things in life more important than chicks  
TG: not a whole lot  
TG: but striders are definitely on that list  
EB: hehehe, that is for sure.  
EB: what about egberts?  
EB: are they on that list?  
TG: outlook cloudy dude  
TG: try again later  
EB: so are you basically telling me not to date? is that what the message is behind your rambling?  
TG: yeah pretty much  
TG: gotta protect that egbert innocence until 27 twenty at least  
EB: that seems extreme!  
TG: hey man  
TG: go big or go home  
TG: you have to wait until at least after we chill to go chasing skirts  
TG: i dont want to have to deal with any dames hanging around  
TG: encroaching on our bro time  
EB: that's not too long then, i can handle the wait.  
EB: but uh, i don't think dad can handle waiting any longer for me.  
EB: so i am going to head downstairs  
TG: alright  
TG: see ya  
EB: i think i am going to tell him tonight.  
TG: tell who what  
EB: don't play coy with me!  
EB: you know what i mean.  
EB: i'm going to tell dad about visiting you.  
TG: okay  
TG: thats good  
TG: what are you waiting around here for?  
TG: do you want me to slap a hand on that ass like were two totally straight baseball players  
EB: that would be quite the feat all the way from texas.  
EB: but really, i just figured i would tell you.  
EB: so like, if you never hear from me again, it's because i have been locked in a tower without internet to protect me from the serial killers who roam the web looking for nubile, trusting young men such as myself.  
EB: i don't think he will take it that hard though.  
EB: i mean, he's seen the birthday stuff you send every year and all that, so i think he will remember your name.  
EB: and he's pretty easy to talk to about this sort of weirdness. and sure i don't have a photo i could show him, but i guess if worse comes to worse i can play that message you left me on my birthday that one time.  
TG: i thought we moved beyond that  
TG: leave that fiery train wreck in the past  
TG: dude its been like a year why do you even have that still  
TG: thats creepy  
TG: and it was an error in judgement  
TG: the only one ive had in my entire kickin rad life  
TG: man do you even know how hard it was to find a pay phone  
TG: it was like looking for an electronic oasis in a concrete desert  
EB: i thought it was really sweet!  
EB: it was weirdly nice to hear what you sound like.  
EB: somehow it matched up perfectly with my mental image of your voice.  
TG: dude dont  
TG: not only has that chapter been closed  
TG: that volume is closed  
TG: and thrown into a book burning pile  
EB: once again the artful dodger has eluded anything resembling an emotional moment.  
EB: to save cool-face.  
TG: go eat you goober  
EB: fine, fine.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tiny chapter rears its head.

The first thing Dave bought on payday was a cell phone. With an unlimited texting plan, of course. John congratulated him on being assimilated, and said it was about time. Dave used his newly gained technology to send John a photo of his hand flipping a complimentary bird.

John sent back a photo with both his hands flipping the bird. Dave wasn't totally sure how he managed to pull it off, but the best he could figure was that John had somehow pinned the camera to his chest using his chin. His dedication was admirable, and Dave let him win that round.

They traded photos almost as much as they traded words. Dave would send John a snapshot of a particularly fantastical sandwich worthy of preservation through the photographic medium. Sometimes it was nothing more than a smog-sullied sunset, the sky lit up like fire and street lights glowing like hazy stars.

John sent him pictures of movie displays stacked with near-neurotic perfection, or a cardboard cutout of the actor du jour peeking around a corner. There was the occasional setup of a prank, each more complicated than the last, John's endeavors no longer relegated to a bucket balanced atop a door.

And once, Dave received a recording, a video of one in action. The mechanics were needlessly complicated, the outcome simple but effective, the target appropriately surprised. Dave couldn't remember exactly what it did, or who'd been the victim, but he did remember the laughter.

It couldn't have been more than three seconds long, a noise that popped up at the end of the video, cut off early as the recording finished abruptly. The noise was in the back of the throat, settled in the nose. It snuffled and snorted, a breathy noise with a wavering pitch.

It was John's, it was infectious as the ebola virus, and it was cute.

Universally cute, of course. Like puppies. Nobody could not like puppies, not even ironically. They could slobber and drool, bite your fingers with those needle-sharp milk teeth, and one nuzzle with a cold wet nose or a big-eyed look could erase it all. Their innate helplessness and tendency to do stupid things without shame was their greatest power. Then soon enough they had their roly-poly selves all up in your thoughts and─ shit. Yeah.

John was a lot like puppies.

So Dave kept the video, mixed in with his own snapshots and the assorted things John sent him. He listened to it sometimes, on nights when he was alone, when John had already gone to bed. Nights when it was just him and the white noise of traffic below.

It was three seconds of─ of something. Dave didn't know what to call it, but he liked it. He liked it in the way a magpie liked shiny things, an innate desire he couldn't explain. He liked it, and that was what was important. That was why he could listen again and again, and never tire of the sound.

And it was what he was listening to when his phone went off in his hand, a thrumming and a buzz that jerked him back from the cusp of sleep. With the white of the screen stinging his eyes, he squinted to read what John had said, mind processing slowly, skipping words before doubling back. They were blue and muddled, swimming like fish beneath the surface of murky water.

EB: alright, so.  
EB: i was gonna wait until tomorrow to show you this since i couldn't get on tonight.  
EB: the longer i sit on it though, the more i want so show you.  
EB: and i can't sleep because of it!  
EB: so here.

Attached to the last text was an image. It was a photo of something with too many words, a piece of paper with neat lines of text. Dave rubbed at his eyes as it came into focus, swiped away the settling sand that made them heavy.

It was a photo of a ticket. A train ticket. All neatly aligned letters and numbers, departure and arrival times, stations and abbreviations. John's name tucked itself into a corner, prim and proper and in its place.

Still caught between sleep and true wakefulness, Dave's hand floundered about in the dark, swatting against the switch on a lamp. With the dim light that shone from it, Dave snapped a photo to send back to John. It was nothing more than his hand, but instead of flipping John off this time, it was a thumbs up.

John sent back a photo of two thumbs up.

'When' was three months away.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. A little bit. Well, not on purpose. I think that's the important part, officer. Anyway, I know before I said the big pesterlogs were done, but my eyes must have gone bad because that wasn't the case, as you'll see in this chapter. Meat and potatoes is coming up soon, though. Double promise.

TG: alright i got this movie thing figured out  
EB: took you long enough!  
TG: so theres this theater a few blocks away  
TG: all old school and shit  
TG: blast from the past  
EB: how past-blasty are we talking?  
EB: does it have the whole greek thing going on? maybe a bit of a hellenistic vibe?  
EB: i want to know what i should be expecting.  
TG: were talking as ye olde school as it gets  
TG: a stage so small you could fit it on a pinhead in you tried really fucking hard  
TG: all roles played by men  
TG: because i know how man on man action gets your blood pumping  
TG: all those concrete seats just ready to hurt your ass  
EB: wow, that almost sounds too good to be in true.  
EB: in fact i mm pretty sure that's the case!  
EB: i think what you are aiming to say is that you're going to take me to a seedy theater with, like, three screens max.  
TG: dude no  
TG: like i would take you somewhere sketch  
TG: as if  
EB: give me a hint about what it looks like!  
EB: does it have one of those big marquees? or balcony seats?  
TG: you just have to wait and see  
TG: im going to spoil the shit out of you dont even worry  
TG: more spoiled than that one time the milk turned to like yogurt  
TG: talk about stank  
EB: that sounds like a little too much spoilage.  
EB: you might want to take it down a notch, to the sell-by date instead or something.  
TG: man youre going to be shaking in your little egbooties when you see this place  
TG: try not to get sprung  
TG: think of the children egbert  
TG: wait no  
TG: sick  
TG: what is wrong with you stop thinking about them  
EB: sorry bud, i'll leave the kid-related thoughts to you.  
EB: since it is your area of expertise and all.  
TG: man you best be careful about taking a bull by the horns like that  
TG: wouldnt want you to end up gored  
EB: so is all this smooth talk basically you trying to tell me the only theater around where you live has three screens max and doesn't play every movie in 4d?  
EB: you know i wouldn't mind that, right?  
EB: heck, i can bring some dvds and we can just watch them at haus of strider.  
EB: you don't have to try and entertain me nonstop, i know i will have a good time regardless.  
TG: youre getting a big fat heaping helping of southern hospitality whether you like it or not  
TG: collared greens and all  
TG: hope you like gravy on literally everything  
TG: heck ill even take you out to eat before we go to the movies  
TG: think of it as a belated birthday dinner deal  
EB: you might want to rethink that!  
EB: i can be a pretty expensive date at the end of the day.  
EB: if you don't watch out i will get a large drink and fries to go with my awesomely huge order of twenty piece chicken nuggets.  
EB: top it all off with a nice apple turnover and you can say goodbye to your savings.  
TG: shit you are going to clean me out faster than a team of maids  
TG: all armed to their clean little teeth with swiffers and pinesol  
TG: that could even cost ten bucks man  
TG: youll have me busking my ass for spare change and mooching off bro by the end of the first day  
EB: that will teach you!  
EB: i'll make you go broke so i can start treating you instead.  
EB: and speaking of your bro, have you told him?  
TG: oh my god  
TG: for the last time ill let you know when i tell him  
EB: well i don't want you waiting until i show up to actually mention it!  
EB: like, hey bro, this is my friend from the web. he's going to crash with us for a few days.  
EB: and it turns out he is not okay with that and both our butts land up on the street.  
TG: hold up eggblurt  
TG: are you for real?  
TG: are these serious thoughts going through your seriously stunted brain?  
EB: look, i'm just saying you should tell him sooner than later in case he doesn't give it the okay.  
TG: man you have to chillax  
TG: i got this situation on lock  
TG: security out of the ass like its alcatraz  
TG: guards at every corner with those searchlights going  
EB: okay, okay. you have this under control! but if your bro gets mad and boots us you are so paying for our room.  
TG: as if bro would get worked up about a dude like you showing up on our doorstep  
TG: itd be like opening the door to find a basket of kittens  
TG: i mean sure theyre going to shit and piss everywhere and wreck the furniture  
TG: but  
TG: cute  
EB: the mighty dave strider has uttered the word 'cute' in what can only be totally unironic way.  
EB: i think i should mark this on my calendar!  
EB: also did you just call me cute??  
TG: actually speaking of cats  
TG: bro basically has the emotional range of a cat  
TG: at worst he wont even notice you for more than five seconds before he pulls a disappearing act  
TG: at best hell say youre mondo kawaii or some shit  
TG: then comes the disappearing act  
EB: wow, that explains a lot.  
EB: when we first started talking i thought maybe you were like a chatbot thing. it was so awesome, i won't lie.  
EB: but then i realized you were a numbnuts kid with way too much time to spend on the internet.  
EB: you still do have the emotional spectrum of a chatbot, i think. actually, that is being pretty over the top generous.  
EB: either way i see the strider apple doesn't fall too far from the tree.  
TG: dude the apple falls right at the base  
TG: gets all dead and decomposed  
TG: absorbed back into the roots  
TG: the strider tree is self sustaining  
TG: and shits on every other tree including your cedars  
EB: ok, i think this is enough tree talk for one night, hippy.  
EB: any more of this and you'll throw down some enya.  
TG: whoa that egburn almost got me  
TG: too bad ive heard better transitions from amateur rappers on youtube  
TG: is it because i shit on your cedars?  
EB: no!  
EB: anyway i am pretty sure we were talking about movies.  
TG: oh  
TG: right  
TG: yeah so thats a thing thats going to be happening  
EB: very cool stuff, looking forward to it.  
TG: same same


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another smaller, kind of in between chapter. I actually thought I had already posted this, but when I went to post a new chapter today I found that wasn't the case.

Sometimes, John was a little weird. Not terrible tastes-weird, like how he could ramble about the latest box office blunders for hours. And not the prying, personal kind of question weird that hinted that he was over-invested in Dave's life. John was late night-text weird.

Dave indulged him, because he didn't have a reason not to.

EB: can you see the moon from your window?  
TG: yeah  
EB: so can i!  
TG: alright  
TG: this is the part where you think im a psychic and know what comes next  
TG: but homie dont play that game so spit it out  
EB: fine, fine, i will tell you.  
EB: but don't laugh.  
EB: i know you're going to laugh anyway, but at least act like you're not.  
TG: deal  
EB: if i asked you to look at the moon while i was looking at it, would you?  
EB: it sounds stupid i know, but still.  
TG: well yeah  
TG: because  
TG: yeah  
EB: wow, that was beautiful. was that byron?  
TG: no  
TG: it was emily dickinson  
TG: im going to go stare at the moon now  
TG: all intense  
TG: like a werewolf waiting for the change to come over me  
TG: you can go look at it too i guess  
EB: okay! i will talk to you in a minute.  
TG: alright im over this  
TG: staring at the moon is boring  
TG: spent like five whole minutes  
TG: didnt even see a ufo  
EB: it's not so bad!  
EB: i'm done too though.  
TG: good  
TG: did our joint activity make you feel appropriately close or whatever the hell was the point of it?  
EB: yup, my whims have been dully satisfied by our venture into mutual moon-staring.  
EB: i can sleep easy and with a sound mind.  
TG: fantastic  
EB: sleep tight, dave.  
EB: and thanks for being dumb with me like that.  
TG: no sweat dude  
TG: im always game  
TG: night

John was okay when he was weird, and Dave didn't mind aiding and abetting.


	7. Chapter 7

Dave had never cleaned his room before. Things ended up were they did by cosmic designation, and if that meant a few Snickers wrappers on the floor here and there, so be it. You didn't mess with the sway of the stars. It helped that Bro didn't ride his ass about it, either. John probably wouldn't understand how celestial bodies influenced the contents of Dave's room though, so he figured he'd clean house.

Cleaning house mainly consisted of Dave shoving things around with his feet and rediscovering things he never remembered having in the first place. He stuffed black garbage bags with skinny jeans and socks with no matches, shirts with bands no one had heard of and ironically garish graphic tees. When they were full, he left them outside his door.

Bro would take care of it. He always did. Like some spooky-ass maid who moonlighted as a ninja, changing bed linens and putting clothes folded with an unsettling neatness in drawers in the time it took Dave to go for a piss. It was a perfect balancing act between impressive and creepy, which seemed to sum Bro up fairly well the more Dave thought about it.

And Bro was around, Dave was sure of it. He didn't need the creak of the front door opening to tell him, or the sound of footsteps to be clued in. It was nothing more than instinct, an intrinsic knowledge and a change in the air, like a storm was rolling in. So it wasn't a surprise when Bro appeared to suddenly fade into the corner of his vision as Dave sprayed down the couch with his third and final bottle of Febreeze.

Neither of them spoke, instead staring another another down like stray cats sizing each other up. Black on black, no emotions, no vulnerability. Bro was the first to look away, to move. He dropped lazily onto the couch, arms stretching across the back, legs spread comfortably. The image of disinterest if ever there was one.

Bro was the leader of their two-lion pride and they both knew it.

Dave retreated to his room without a word, shoulders stiff and tight, back rigid. Bro never hung around for the sake of it. He was the overseer of the smooth Strider factory, nearly nonexistent as long as things went according to plan. But when there was a slow down on the line, there he was, snooping around and getting to the root of it.

There were a hundred questions crammed into their standoff, a barrage on Bro's behalf that rained like goddamn arrows from the sky. And sure Dave couldn't dodge them all, but he could bear them in silence. Because if he were to answer them, there'd only be more. He'd have to tell Bro about John eventually, couldn't just have that buck-toothed twerp skip in without warning, but Dave was putting it off as long as possible.

Because how could he even explain John?

John was Dave's antithesis. A buck-toothed, four-eyed dweeb, bottom of the social rung and wholly at ease with it. He liked terrible things without the tiniest sliver of irony. He had that spark of snark that stung so good, like scratching at an already-raw mosquito bite. And he had that hopefulness still, that naivety that assured him things would turn out okay, that good things happened to good people. 

John was normal. Got hot, homemade meals and brown-bagged lunches to take to school. He'd taken piano lessons, gone to summer camps and went on vacations. He was someone you’d see on TV, stepped off a sitcom setting with its canned laughter and taking the corny jokes with him. Something about that full package of normalcy had Dave positively entranced and bordering on hypnotized. Like a seven-car pile up he couldn't look away from.

Except it was something a lot more heart warming than horrifying. Less twisted metal and carnage, heavier on the uplifting and human-interesty aspects, the kind of things slow news days thrived on. A cat stuck up a tree with firemen already on the scene. Also, the cat was pregnant, and the owner was a little wisp of a widow with nothing else to call family. The cat had probably woken her in the night once and busted her ass out of bed during a house fire to really get that sap-story shit slathered on top. 

Dave was the invested bystander, another face in a crowd across the street watching the action unfold. He'd leave soon enough, linger only a few minutes more. Just long enough to see the happy outcome before going back to a life of cold disappointment he'd steeled himself against long ago.

Speaking of cats, though, John probably wouldn't like dead ones. Even if they were carefully─ and respectfully─ preserved in jars. Even the floating chupacabra would probably be too weird for him. Dave had mentioned it before, his affinity for the deceased, slipped it into conversation smooth as anything.

John laughed it off, gone right back to talking about the new slew of movie posters plastered to his wall. Dave never brought it up again. He'd tuck them away instead, like some sort of macabre Mayan gold. The closet seemed an obvious choice, ideal for this sort of secret.

Except there was already a mini fridge tucked away in there, because as good of an urban legend as it would make, Dave wasn't about to have John get hailed on by all sorts of shitty swords the first time he went for a snack. Going to the closet for grub was still weak sauce, but at least it wasn't life-endangering.

Even if the closet wasn't already in use, there was always the off chance that dopey kid would manage to worm his way in there anyway. Opening the door only to be confronted by a troupe of curled, dead creatures would do a pretty ace job of giving Dave a serial killer vibe he didn't exactly want.

The fact that his furniture was mostly composed of cinder blocks and plywood didn't help either. Or that his bed had no frame, was nothing more than a mattress on a box-spring with a twisted heap of mismatched blankets and pillows on it. With the heavy black blankets he'd nailed over the window, it pulled the room together to create the natural habitat of the tweaker.

Fuck.

Dave's foot snared on the electric cables that consumed his floor like snakes in a pit, sending him sprawling onto his bed. He lay there facedown, shades biting into his skin. This shit was bananas. Not underripe bananas, green and stiff and easy to pass over. Not run of the mill yellow. Not even spotted and overripe, soft and mushy and ready to be made into banana bread.

This shit was all necrotic black tissue and fruit fly feasting, putrefaction off the chain, and it was Dave's life.

One look at Dave's life and John would be recoiling, just arrived and already wanting to head home. His lips would curl back, those buck teeth he'd complained about for years exposed in a repulsed grimace. Or he'd be scared, fear in his eyes as thoughts of the cliche online-friend-turned-murderer swarmed his head. Worst of all, John might pity him.

The thought alone sent a disgusted ripple down Dave's spine, curled his fingers and tensed his shoulders. Pity was for people in the streets, people with addled heads and lives they didn't deserve. Pity was for people with fucked up lives and fucked up minds who couldn't get out, who suffered and folded in on themselves while others looked on and tutted, nodded sadly and murmured what a shame it was while they did nothing.

Dave didn't want pity. His life hadn't been normal, not by a long shot, but that hadn't crippled him. He hadn't wilted under pressure. He'd come out on top, stronger and better and a hell of a lot smarter than everyone else. But pity─ pity painted a veneer that sound something was wrong with him.

Nothing was wrong with Dave Strider. Even if his room did look like ass and he collected dead things. 

Dave continued to lie on his bed, his pulse in his stomach. The stupid triple Salchow it'd been doing before had evolved into a straight up routine. It started off slow with a double toe loop, perfect takeoff and rotations and a landing without a hint of wobble. Toss in some hydroblading, a good old fashioned layback spin to up the ante. Polish it off with a no-hand cantilever and hit the judges hard with a─ Jesus, _Jesus_. Dave needed to stop watching so much Sunday evening figure skating with Bro. It was getting to his head.

 

An automatic twitch overtook Dave's hand when his phone went off, muscle memory kick started by the noise. There was John with his hourly check in, a text that would reveal the inner workings of his simpleton. John could wait, Dave decided. he was having a moment here, doing the teenage broody deal because he had a free pass for that shit and he was going to ham it up.

His phone went off again, vibrating along his desk and out of arm's reach. John could hold his horses. In fact, he could hitch them up to a saloon outside and tromp on in for a drink, take his time chatting up the locals. He could untack that horse and stable it for the night. He could turn it out to pasture and watch it grow old because Dave was going to take his sweet-ass time and─

God dammit, John was blowing that shit up like nitroglycerin. Dave pulled himself up long enough to lurch a lean arm over to his desk, nails barely catching on his phone and pulling it closer as he flopped onto his back.

How could John do this so easily to him? Like a master puppeteer with his hands at work on a marionette, effortless and easy. John could make Dave dance with nothing more than the electric chime of his phone, slammed into his skull a Pavlov response that left him salivating to see a screen with John's blue-lacquered words.

But why?

Bro was back in Dave's head before he could stop it, like the annoying as fuck paperclip that haunted Dave's school reports when he was younger, suggesting trivial bullshit and asking too many questions before Dave could even finish a sentence. But instead of waggling eyebrows and a grey, animated body, Bro was silence and stillness.

And it was a hundred times worse, because Dave couldn't shut him off.

Bro was really something else, someone who eschewed all social norms. He didn't sweep them under the rug so much as he made a bonfire one day and that was the end of regulated civility in the Strider household.

Thanksgiving to Bro was a bucket of KFC with a bowl of gravy, a dozen biscuits for Dave, and NASCAR on the television. There was a permanent Bro-shaped indent on the couch in the living room from too many marathons of COPS and Judge Judy and Cheaters. Current events to him was whatever football player Kim Kardashian was dating and Miss America judging controversies.

It wasn't because Bro was stupid, or lazy. There was nothing unintelligent about him. Bro was a man of few words, and in the same vein, a man of few fucks. The ones he gave were selective and far between. But now he was giving a fuck. Specifically about what Dave was giving a fuck about himself enough to make a passing effort to clean house.

It was, for all intents and purposes, a reach around cluster fuck-giving bonanza that Dave couldn't answer for.

He wouldn't have gone through all these hoops for anyone else. Not that 'anyone else' had a hand in his life these days. Jade had gone and drifted away, forever with her head in the clouds and dreamy words at her fingertips. He'd figured she'd grow out eventually, that it was nothing more than a question of when. Instead their conversations had tapered, wispy and weak like the last drag of a cigarette until Dave could meet Jade's airy text with one-word responses and eventually nothing at all.

Rose was harder to shake. Her constant barrage of psycho babble and attempts to pick apart Dave's coolkid mind grew worse over the years. Every attempt to deflect the conversation, to take the reins and steer it somewhere halfway enjoyable, were smothered by ten dollar words and too-perfect syntax.

The sight of her name, of her text⌐ stuck between purple and pink, repressed and faded like the bad childhood memories she insisted Dave must have, churned his stomach and tensed his toes. Each text-based lobotomy was more unbearable than the last, no pretense or prelude before Rose was on his back.

It was surgery without the courtesy of anesthesia, Dave the fully-aware patient that couldn't be put under, Rose the looming surgeon with scalpel in hand. Rose's constant reminders that any attack on him was a projection, was 'all in his head' serving to drive the tent spike of distrust further into their friendship.

So he just stopped talking to her. It was the obvious option, but someone the least possible one. There was etiquette and rules to dance around, motions to go through and grievances to be aired before pulling the plug. Society had its dictates and steps, measures in place that were meant to halt cut and runs.

Dave had never been big on following the rules. Why change his tune now?

John had tried to talk to him about it, his words a smorgasbord of good intentions and misguided attempts to patch things up, serving as a go between, like a child delivering messages between feuding parents. Dave told John that best bro status wasn't a park-hopper pass he could tote to get him and Rose talking again, and that if he kept that shit up he could expect to join the ranks of Rose and Jade. 

It was one of the few times he'd flipped his coolkid lid at John and the one that stuck the most in his mind. He'd meant to apologized, ran scenarios of conversation through his head on endless loop, predicting responses and replies and getting each line to fit perfectly. But when the time came he'd swallowed the words like gum, stowing them away in the pit of his stomach for another six months or eight years or however the fuck the deal went.

John switched out their conversation faster than Indy grabbed that golden monkey. He rattled off new trailers he'd seen and pranks he was cooking up as though nothing happened, Dave's hotheaded threat not even a blip on the radar screen of their friendship. Sure John didn't speak Strider, couldn't drop sick fires or sweet spiels, but he could understand it well enough to navigate rocky terrain.

Rose and Jade were stricken from Dave's heart that day, forcibly evicted and given the boot. John easily fitted himself into the hole they'd left, filled it with his sincere adoration of terrible flicks and somehow endearing opposition to all things Betty Crocker. He put up with Dave's self-absorbed shit not out of some familial or legal obligation, but because he wanted to.

And just like that it clicked together for Dave, like a reflection in rippling water, all wavering lines and features coming into focus until the surface was perfectly clear and the truth undeniable. Over the years John had marched around Dave's personal Babylonian walls without rest, and while he hadn't crumbled them, hadn't made the slightest crack or fracture, his familiarity transformed him into a non-threat.

One day the gates had opened and John had ridden a beaglepuss-bedecked horse right into Strider City and cozied up that shit, bought himself a little house right out of Country Living and feng-shui'd out the ass. He'd gotten himself a yard with blue-ribbon begonias that nabbed him the top spot every time the city council did their yearly garden tour.

John was all settled in for the long haul, had his hands on the tenderest parts of Dave's heart, fingers lithe and long, smooth cuticles and trimmed nails with clean beds. Pianist's fingers, that's what he had─ perfect for reaching keys and plucking heartstrings. There was nothing Dave could do to stop him, no way to pull him out by the roots like a weed and toss him aside.

Because he cared for John, and oh fuck, wasn't that a revelation that had been waiting in the wings for ages. Truly a crescendo of obvious thought he'd repressed like bad childhood memories.

Dave cared for John in all the ways he promised himself he would never care for another. In the ways that left him vulnerable and open and just asking to be hurt. In the ways that made him trust. It was why he went without sleep, stared at the moon because he was asked to, and showed up for work at the thinly-veiled torture chamber that was Sub n Grub.

Dave's hand twitched again as his phone went off once, the noise ringing through his seriously uncool thoughts. Fuck that noise. He bottled them up and pushed them down, exiled them to the emotional elephant graveyard, where everything went to stagnate and rot and whither until it was nothing but bleached white bones and fossilized feelings.

Goddamn, this Egbert stuff was making him more dramatic than a theater kid with a hard on for the lead role of The King and I. He'd have to smother it under too-high bass and stuttering beats before the night was over, fingers too busy spinning records to text. Not that it could hurt to check his phone one last time though, make sure John hadn’t gotten himself roped into a chain gang or mugged in a dark alley.

EB: okay, so i'm all packed finally.  
EB: dad is about to take me to the train station.  
EB: i figure i'll have a signal for the most part unless we go through lots of tunnels or boonies or whatever.  
EB: but yeah, i'm on my way! it kinda feels surreal i have to say.   
EB: anyway, you are probably busy doing your cool thing so i'll buy you later. just wanted to let you know the eagle is leaving the nest! 

Dave let out a breath through pursed lips as he read the messages, blue text emblazoned in his head.

'When' was three days away.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, and that it's such a short chapter. I've been out of town the past few weeks, but I'll be updating with a longer chapter within a few days.

Therapy was different for everyone. For some people it meant sitting in a small room, walls lined with degrees, a smartly-dressed person with leather shoes sitting in a leather chair. Pen in hand, scratching against paper as shorthand notes were jotted down, problematic behaviors contained between rows of thin blue lines. A great fuss was made about feelings, and sometimes copious amounts of tears were involved.

For others, it was a bottle of jack, a carton of cigarettes, or simply a bagful of over-salted fast food and an extra large diet soda to offset the inevitable guilt. It could be six new pairs of shoes and a Gucci purse at the end of the shopping spree. Sometimes it was even the burn of a still-smoldering cigarette butt against skin.

For Dave, it was peeling out in the parking lot of Sub and Grub, his manager shouting his trademark stream of over the top expletives. The sound blaring from Dave's speakers drowned out the insults, the bass shaking the sleepy shopping center and turning every head.

Fuck them and their fresh-baked Dutch crackle bread and Fontina cheese. He was no one's sandwich making slave. If they couldn't spare him a week to chill with John no-interruptions-allowed, they'd have to find someone else to slap bread and meat and cheese together.

He'd only kept turning up for John, anyway. Wanted to have enough to show the dork a good time and then some, spoil him so rotten his teeth would fall about and he'd be taking the diabetes train out of Texas. He had enough for that now. Enough for all that and with some left over to get John some dentures as a goodbye gift.

By the end of it, Dave would make sure John was hurting to stay, fingers gripping the doorway when it was time to go.


	9. Chapter 9

TG: i know its going to be a struggle but dont let the train conductors siren voice get to you  
TG: you have to get off at the dallas stop and if you miss it  
TG: well  
TG:i hope you have good walking shoes  
TG: once youre here itll be cool though  
TG: ill keep an eye on you  
TG: protect you from the harsh reality that has yet to penetrate the soft cocoon of suburban life you know  
TG: see someone strolling down the street eating peanuts?   
TG: i will throw myself bodily between you and them to preserve your delicate sensibilities   
TG: confronted by cake?  
TG: i will eat it  
TG: all of it  
TG: itll be like it never existed  
TG: its my cross to bear  
TG: the burden that comes with befriending one grade a egbert  
TG: but im pretty sure i can handle it   
EB: that was a rousing speech.  
EB: let me start a slow-clap for that.  
EB: absolutely moving, wiping tears from my eyes.  
EB: i have to say, i will be super surprised if your room isn't decorated with all kinds of medals to prove how selfless and heroic you are.   
TG: dude my room is baller  
TG: were talking taj mahal 2.0  
TG: one look and youll be weak in the knees  
TG: add in my charming visage and youll be straight up swooning   
EB: wow, just talking about it is giving me the vapors!  
EB: you better be ready to catch me when i drop like a rock.   
TG: fret not fair maiden  
TG: i got this shit on lock   
EB: i am going to hold you to this, fyi.  
EB: bluh, sorry but there's another tunnel coming up i think.   
TG: no its alright dude  
TG: i got it  
TG: strider charm is getting you flustered and you have to cool off

John didn’t respond, the tunnel he’d mentioned most likely killing his signal.

Dave pulled his shoes on─ no need to tie them, as the laces had become a permanent Gordian knot─ and grabbed his car keys. Bitches loved guys with cars. Sure, John didn't strictly fall into that category, and the sound system cost more than the actual car itself, but the dweebus would still be able to appreciate cruising in the Stridermobile. Hell, he might even get the ironic pink and fuzzy dice.

As long as John was remotely impressed, it was a start. Dave was going to have to impress the shit out of that kid like he was some dawdling colonial and Dave was the Royal Navy about to gank his ass. Had to get him all buttered up before he was in the door of the apartment and lambasted with the sights and smells that were cooked up by the most bachelor as fuck pad that ever did exist.

There was no way to make it to the front door without passing Bro, but it didn't stop Dave from trying. He watched Bro from the hallway for a minute, a game plan coagulating in his head. Bro was reclining on the couch, one arm slung over the back of it and the other in his lap. His feet were kicked up on the coffee table, a program about the hunt for Bigfoot reflected on his shades.

"Snagged yourself a hot date?" Bro asked.

Busted at the starting gate, great.

"Nope," Dave said, dropping any pretense of stealth and striding toward the door.

"That cologne is telling me otherwise, little man."

"That's nice."

Dave had his hand on the doorknob before Bro spoke again.

"You going to tell me what's going on before it's too late?" Bro asked.

Dave shut his eyes, forehead resting against the door as mentally wound his words together.

"We're having a house guest," Dave finally managed. "Actually, no. I'm having a guest. We'll keep our shit to ourselves and you feel free to do the same."

Dave interpreted Bro's immediate silence as a sign of begrudging acceptance. That, or the door would be dead bolted when he came home. As he left, Dave patted himself down, checking for keys and wallet and phone. Reassured, he set off down the stairs at a quick clip, his thumb moving over the keyboard of his phone, lighting the screen and showing the time.

'When' was thirty minutes away.


	10. Chapter 10

Dave rocked on his heels as he waited in the train station, hands jammed in his back pockets and peering over the black of his shades to view arrival times. John was due to be strolling on out into the station any minute now, and Dave was going to have to pick him out. That doof of a kid really should have sent a photo of his mug before he decided to stroll on down here.

Dave had a mental image of John, all hazy, soft features except for the teeth. There'd been some window, one that no one spoke of online. You got a photo of someone in that window, that golden moment where they revealed themselves as something beyond text on a screen. But if it passed, that was it. Closed and boarded up, the window would be shut.

That window had been gone for years for the both of them.

The visual input Dave associated with John's name were gleaned from the occasional distorted reflection in a photo, a blurred form in a chrome tea kettle or a ghost-like image in the plexiglass covering a movie poster at the theater. 

John had a clockwork complaint that his hair was tickling the back of his neck every few weeks. The 'be back in a sec' at eleven sharp he gave a sign what he was tottering off to put his retainer in for the night.

Once, when John had texted at an hour so late even Dave was asleep, the messages had been sprinkled with typos indicating something about spiders being above beds and why that was seventeen kinds of wrong. When Dave roused himself only enough to assure him that the no doubt incredibly poisonous spider was simply looking for a nice place to sleep─ probably in John's mouth─ and poked fun at his misspellings, John had replied saying he'd moved out to crash on the couch and he really couldn't be blamed that he couldn't see his phone too well without his glasses.

So that was John. Funny teeth and glasses, short hair and─ as he'd put it personally─ getting closer to the deep end of five feet. It wasn't enough for Dave. Not now, not with him having to keep an eye out for the dweeb. He slid his phone out of his pocket and rattled off a text to John, eyes darting from the screen to the arrival area and back again.

TG: hey mystery man  
TG: got a question for you   
EB: i will be sure to give you a mysterious answer, so that i keep up my image.  
EB: also, what?   
TG: what are you wearing?   
EB: whoa, coming off a little strong.  
EB: well, i guess i could tell you. for two dollars a minute and with possible additional charges depending on your service provider.   
TG: heres my credit card baby charge me double if you want  
TG: now tell me what youre working   
EB: uh, pajamas.   
TG: seriously?   
EB: yeah!   
TG: well for two bucks a minute you better give me some details  
TG: get to the sexy nitty gritty   
EB: hmm, they're not especially sexy. not unless you have a thing for boring blue tartan.  
EB: i wanted to wear my space jam ones, but they were in the wash when i had to leave.   
TG: shit dude that is getting me hot  
TG: pjs all plastered with bugs bunny and michael jordan  
TG: youre lucky you couldnt bring them or id be all over you in a flash step  
TG: now tell me about your shirt   
EB: okay.  
EB: for starters i have a black, lacy push up bra on. with a lobster clasp in the back, even.   
TG: what  
TG: do bras even have lobster clasps?   
EB: i don't know, but it sounds fancy.  
EB: either way you can't see it because it is all covered up by my hoodie.   
TG: ugh giving me blue balls   
EB: so i'm assuming you want to know what i'm going to look like, right?  
EB: you know i could just tell you and not do the whole song and dance.   
TG: man that is way too easy  
TG: unnecessarily complicated things are my lifeblood   
EB: tell me about it.  
EB: you know my duds now though so it shouldn't be too hard to find me. if the clothes don't stand out, look for someone roguishly handsome and with a winning grin.   
TG: yeah sure  
TG: and i have a six pack on my six pack  
TG: six packs all the way down   
EB: hehe, as if i need a description of what you look like.  
EB: ten to one chance you are wearing those dopey shades i got you forever ago.   
TG: dopey i think you mean dope   
EB: see? i so knew it.  
EB: also, we're slowing down now.  
EB: i think i will see you in a few minutes?   
TG: okay  
TG: if you cant find me just walk around until you feel a cold spot  
TG: thats where youll find the coolest kid in town   
EB: whatever you say, man.  
EB: :P

Dave turned his phone over in his hand as the screen went dark. The floor vibrated as the train neared, unseen outside, but heard in the slow squealing of brakes on metal rails. Dave found himself half in the shadow of a vending machine as he watched the steady trickle of passengers leaving the train grow into a ball, people breaking away and wandering off like dandelion seeds smitten with the wind.

'When' was thirty seconds away.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to upload this! I've been busy at Fanime and then managed to bring a cold home with me, but I'm trying to catch up to everything now.

John's luggage was about as big as him; that was first thing Dave noticed. Kid looked like he packed his house and then some, maybe even a bit of the neighbor's garden. The luggage bumped against John when he paused, knocking him forward a step, his free hand reaching for nothing as he steadied himself. 

The deep end of five feet was pushing it, Dave decided as bodies wound their way around John. Deep end would have to be counting the flyaway cowlick sticking up from John's head. He pushed black-rimmed glasses up his nose, dark brows knitting as he swung his gaze from side to side.

He wasn't kidding about the pajamas.

Dave couldn't resist texting.

TG: hey there pajama sam

John went straight for his phone, eyes lighting up and a smile quirking the corner of his lips as he read the text. He was surveying the station again in a second, luggage in tow as he restarted his search. Like a rat in a maze, John padded between pew-like rows of seats and swung around kitty corners, progressively putting more distance between him and Dave in his search.

TG: colder

John doubled back.

TG: warmer

John picked up the pace.

TG: tropical  
TG: nearing the equator

Power-walking commenced.

TG: hot as the sick fires i spin

John saw him then, looked up at that perfect split-second to catch Dave putting away his phone. And then he started bumbling. Fucking _bumbling_. Right at Dave, collision course scheduled for seven seconds and counting. Like he was some kind of overeager puppy tripping over itself to greet its owner.

He stopped inches short of running into Dave, head tilted up to look at him. His smile was impish, his Cupid’s bow perfect and his lips a pale, enticing pink.

"Well?" John said, drawing Dave's gaze from his lips to his eyes. 

They were the same shade as the crow Dave had raised last summer. The one he found on the sidewalk, an ugly mess of gray skin stretched tight over bones, nubbly down sprouting from its prehistoric-looking body as its beak gaped open to cheep helplessly at him. He snuck it into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie and took it home. He kept it secret for two weeks, feeding it a Frankenstein concoction of cheerios and ninety-nine cent store wet cat food through a syringe and tucking it under the bed at night, hidden away in an old shoe box.

Then Bro had fucked it all up, waltzed in one afternoon and caught Dave chilling on the futon, Seinfield on the screen and a baby crow perched on his chest. The sole sound in the apartment for the next minute was canned laughter, the only movement that of the crow as it fluffed its down. Bro jerked his thumb back once toward the door, keys jangling in his other hand as he did so.

Dave put his shoes on and the bird back in the box, tucking it under his arm as he ducked out into the hallway. Bro drove them straight to the wildlife control center, fingers tapping a beat against the old leather steering wheel as the engine idled. 

Opening the lid of the shoe box one last time, Dave stared down at the crow. Rule number one of Baby Wild Animal Club was to keep your grubby mitts off, but Dave never was all that great when it came to following rules. With the pad of his index finger, he rubbed the baby bird's head, swallowing a sigh as its eyes closed with contentment.

Those were John's eyes. Baby-crow blue and just as content, invoking those useless nurturing instincts, the urge to protect and hold and keep something other than himself safe bubbling to the surface of his blood. Rearing its ugly head was every last thing Dave was sure he'd shut away in that box with his baby bird before he took it inside the wildlife center, setting it on the counter and out the door before the receptionist could get a word in.

Jesus, this goober was draining his cool like a vampire on a fair maiden's neck.

Not to mention that dopey little grin was leaving fast, gnarly chompers going into hiding and─ oh shit. Oh shit, John was pulling a shame-face, eyebrows furrowed with concern and bottom lip tucked under teeth. Not to mention he was certainly, most definitely, stepping back. 

"I─ sorry," John said, voice faltering. "You must think I'm seriously weird, barreling up to you like this. I just─ you just─ my friend. You look like him. Or like, you have the same shades. Aw jeez, you must be wondering why some weirdo kid is all up in your personal space. Sorry, my bad. I mean seriously─"

"Whoa, chill out, bro," Dave said. "It's me alright. Couldn't help but be stunned for a sec by the sheer dweebitude you're giving off. Like some sort of dorky forcefield keeping my mouth shut."

"Jeez laweez, Dave," John said, going cross-eyed with frustration for a split second before his shoulders sagged. "Here you go making me think I'm totally all over a stranger and freaking them out. I knew you'd be a jerk but that is kinda monumental jerk levels, don't you think?"

John shook his head after he finished, the rest of his breath coming out in a giggle-tinged sigh. His expression softened, his smile an easy slope as he raised a hand to run it through his scruffy hair. The light caught on a ring around his finger for a moment, but the sight of it gone before Dave could ask if it was a purity ring forced on John by old man Egbert. When he tried to follow it with his eyes, Dave found it shadowed as John stuck his hand between them, turned sideways in preparation for a handshake.

"You're such a square," Dave said as his hand met against John's.

A dull thrum buzzed against Dave’s skin as their palms met. Oh God. This was one of those things─ those cliches in books and movies and oversaturated hipster photos with faint white text slapped on. Now his heart was going to speed up or slow down or some crazy shit. Skin was going to get goose-pimpled to hell and back, and any second now a knot would settle itself into the base of his throat.

Except there was one more thing Dave couldn't account for, another sensation thrown into the mix that couldn't be placed. It was between his hand and John's, something small and solid and _there_. Dave gripped John's hand, pulling it closer before he turned it over. In his palm was a metallic spot the size of a quarter, a tiny button centered in it.

"The fuck is this?" Dave said.

John tugged his hand back, a a deep wrinkle on his forehead peeking through his bangs as he pressed his palms together. His lips pursed for a moment, gaze bizarrely intense. With a huff he dropped his hands to his sides, expression softening as he looked to the side.

"I figured you could use a good old fashioned prank," John said, foot scuffing the floor. "Like, the whole water-squirting bow tie stuff, or the banana peel on the floor. But uh, I guess this whole handshake shock thingy didn't totally pan out."

"Oh my god, you're such a dweeb. I knew you'd be bad, but this is otherworldly."

"Well I mean, I was gonna give you a proper hello and all after I shocked you."

"No worries, bro. You shocked me. Floored me with your lameness. Shit, you're lamer than a horse with two busted legs."

John rolled his eyes, a half-smile sneaking through.

"Alright, Dave. Whatever you say. Anyway, how about that whole proper hello deal?"

"Let's get down to business, dude. Proper it up like true gentlemen."

Dave loosely balled his hand into a fist, raising it between him and John. Brofists were totally in vogue, the perfect manly gesture to convey affection without stooping to the awkward tangle of arms that was a hug. John stared at his hand for a moment like it was an alien insect his brain was trying to pinpoint, name and recognize. His nose wrinkled and out came that laugh Dave had heard a hundred times over and then some. It was even better in person. Fucking 5D with surround sound and technicolor.

John batted Dave's offered fist aside, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as his smile grew. He closed the last foot between them, roping his arms around Dave's chest, the rest of his body following through, his cheek warm as it pressed against Dave's shirt. He squeezed, shoulders taut and hunched, a bear-hug set to eleven.

John hugged like a mother embracing her son when he showed up on the doorstep fresh from war. He hugged like an owner upon seeing their long lost pet for the first time. He hugged like someone who thought they'd never get this chance, this simple pleasure of contact and touch. 

And fuck, if John kept his head all mushed up against Dave like that, he was going to hear that coolkid heart bucking like a bronco fresh to the rodeo circuit. Dave couldn't push him away though, peel him off as though he were dead skin flayed from a sunburn. 

Because it was nice, and it was _right_. 

Dave couldn't pin it with words or thoughts, only understood it through feeling. It was how his body seemed fitted to John's, arms easily wrapping around him, settling over his shoulders. He rested his cheek against John's hair, a stray wisp tickling his nose. 

John smelled like laundry, warm and freshly pulled from the dryer. He smelled like homemade dinners with no help from the microwave, eaten at the table with napkins in laps, forks to the left and knives to the right. He smelled like routine and stability and so many things Dave never had.

Dave squeezed John tight in his arms, counted to ten before he let him go, because John had earned that hug. He'd screwed around on a train for three days to get here, scrounged up the cash through his own job and hadn't taken a single handout.

Yeah. That big ol' marathon of a hug was for John's sake.

John twisted from side to side when the hug ended, all antsy and energetic, like a child meeting their idol for the first time. His goofy as fuck smile was a straight up battering ram against Dave's defenses of cool, and Jesus his reserves were going to be tapped out by the time he got John back to the apartment.

"I feel like I need to say so much at once, it's completely ridiculous. I hope you can, like, feel it instead. Like through our bro connection," John said, words fast and stumbling. He moved his hands between them, gesturing to an invisible tether.

"Feeling it loud and clear, dude," Dave assured, weaving around John and grabbing the handle of his luggage. "Now let's get this show on the road."

John padded after him with a laugh, tripping over words and his steps as he tried to grab his luggage back. His fingers wrapped around the handle, too small for the both of them to grip comfortably. The sides of their hands rested against one another as John found his hold, nestled together like two lovebirds on a tiny perch.

"I can't let you haul my junk all over town this," John said, body angled oddly at Dave as they walked. Two-person luggage relay wasn't the easiest way to move, and neither of them were going to be the first to give up.

"Sorry, dude, didn't realize I was picking my new maid up at the train station."

When they made it outside, John's steps stuttered, his hold on the handle loosening enough for Dave to pull it from him. He took off at a faster pace, long steps taking him toward the parking lot, the cool night air biting at his ears as his free hand went for the car keys in his pocket. He'd thrown the luggage─ Jesus, maybe John had decided to take the kitchen sink too─ into the trunk that definitely didn't smell like a stank-ass catacomb before he realized, with a sick kind of lurch, that he was alone.


	12. Chapter 12

"John?" Dave called, glancing over his shades to look around. 

Early readings of the area pointed to no sign of intelligent life. Or even unintelligent life. Five minutes into friendship time and Dave had already gone and lost his dudefriend. There was a spark in his heart, one that pumped through his blood down to the tips of his toes and fingers. It was the panic of a child in a department store, that sudden surety that after the disappearance of mom from sight, she would never be seen again.

Goddamn, he was going to handcuff John to him once he found him. Or at least pull some ball-and-chain deal.  
Dave's phone went off as he headed back to the station at a brisk clip, hands jammed in his pockets as he moved. His phone chirped, vibrating against his palm as he pulled it out. John's name glowed on the screen. Probably the first message from the kidnappers.

EB: thief!!  
EB: i came all this way for you.  
EB: and all you want is my money and stuff.  
TG: man you got me thinking this is going to be a list of demands from someone who nabbed you  
TG: also who are you calling a thief  
TG: im chilavrous as all get out  
TG: a straight up knight practically  
TG: here i am playing bellhop and you go and get yourself lost in three seconds  
EB: but brave sir knight, you have abandoned me!  
EB: actually, i was kinda thirsty so i went over to the vending machine.  
EB: but then i go to ask if you want anything and you've pulled a fast one.  
EB: mr. tall pale and sneaky.  
TG: not my fault i went to saddle up my steed  
TG: also dude if youre hungry or thirsty you should tell me  
TG: im effectively your babysitter for the next two weeks  
TG: where even are you?  
EB: uhh, by the fountain. the one with the statue thing.  
TG: thats not a statue  
TG: thats a quarter million dollar cement fart  
TG: also the vending machine by it is broken so dont put your dough in unless you never want to see it again  
TG: be there in a sec listen for hoofbeats  
EB: actually, i think i can already see you.  
EB: yeah, okay. you waved at me.  
EB: texting you when i can see you is weird, i'm gonna stop.

John's hand rose, fingers curling shyly in a sheepish wave as Dave closed in on him. Dave knocked against his shoulder as he came to stand beside him, and yeah, they were going to have to figure out how the hell they were supposed to greet one another. After that hug-off, brofisting wouldn't cut it.

"What exactly were you wanting to get?" Dave asked.

John turned to face the vending machine with Dave, their shoulders bumping again. Dave could get used to that─ could get used to this. Used to having a Derpbert all up in his grill and comfortably close. It was nice in the way the discovery of a food long avoided, but once tasted, was delicious. All these years without it, and now he was finding out it was fucking good and he needed to make up for lost time by having a nosh session.

"Well I wanted a Pepsi, really. And maybe some cookies too," John said.

"Pepsi? You're a Pepsi boy?" Dave asked with feigned disgust. 

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, I guess. I mean, I won't stop you from being a loser or anything. 'Round these parts though, it's Coca Cola all the way," Dave said, feeding a rumpled bill into the machine.

"Wait, Dave─ Dave, don't. It's going to eat your money, you said so yourself," John said, hands ineffectually batting at Dave's arm. Shit was cute. Kitten-cute.

"Guess I forgot to tack that asterisk on the end, let you know there was a bit of fine print to be read."

"And exactly what was that fine print?"

"The above information applies only to idiots."

John made a noise between a snort and a huff, but he didn't argue when Dave fished a Pepsi and a small bag of cookies from the slot in the vending machine. He matched Dave's pace as they headed for the car again, teeth clamped on the bottle's top . He was all awkward movements as he tried to take the cap off while attempting to open his cookies at once.

Dave didn't comment because he wasn't looking. Or really, he was pretending not to look while straight up spying out of the corner of his eye. He had to at least act like he wasn't tripping the fuck out over John being real and here and _closecloseclose_ in a way Dave wasn't sure he ever got to experience with anyone.

He had faint memories of closeness, of Bro's hand on his back, voice low and touched with a drawl as he told Dave about bootstraps and how he needed to pick himself up by them. There was the Batman bandaid slapped on haphazard after a skinned knee, the promise of fries and a burger if he kept it cool. The last in the line of recollections was Dave's first day of school, Bro's fingers ruffling his hair, the smell of his leather gloves lingering when the touch had passed. Bro had nudged Dave toward the steps, and that was it.

After that, Bro pulled back. He became the hand of the zoo keeper, outfitted with a puppet of the mother bird. Any interaction, any rearing, was performed on behalf of the puppet, Bro was taken out of the equation, as though Dave would be too tame with his influence, too trusting and impossible to release back into the wild.

But John wasn't pulling the puppet shtick. He was shucking the puppet and jumping right into the nest and taking it to the limit. And Dave didn't mind that one bit. It was novel and new, and something he wasn't going to turn away without testing it out.

"Click it or ticket, bub," Dave said as they reached the car, pulling the passenger door open for John.

"Didn't think I'd get some firsthand experience with the whole Southern charm deal so soon," John said, squeezing between Dave and the car as he slid into his seat.

Dave went around to the driver's side and got in, buckling his seat belt before raising his hand, fingers playing along the rear view mirror, adjusting it ineffectually as he checked his reflection in it. Not a hair was out of place, his expression muted and unreadable as always. Just how he liked it.

The engine rolled over a few times before it coughed to life, heat pouring from the vents as Dave cranked the knob. John jolted in his seat as music filled the car, picking up right as the drop kicked in. Dave was quick to turn it down, but the car still thrummed with the bass.

"Next stop, Strider Station," Dave said as he pulled out of the parking lot.

John was loud. He ate loudly, he drank loudly, and even managed to blink loudly. And somehow─ that was okay. John could be loud, incapable of comprehending personal space, and hard to keep track of, but that worked. Similar traits in others would have turned Dave to a teeth-grinding stone-faced mess, but John took them and twisted them with that goofy smile and snuffle of a breath and made it endearing. He worked that shit to his advantage, and Dave was digging it.

"Mind if we take the scenic route?" Dave asked, fingers tapping a beat on the steering wheel. "Can't say I'm super stoked to get stuck in a parking lot masquerading as a freeway."

"Fine by me," John said. "Also, it's totally fine if you want to take your shades off. It's cool that you like them so much and all, but I don't want you running us off the road because you can't see behind them."

"Bro, these things are affixed to my face for good."

"Are you saying you seriously wear them at night, like, all the time?" John brushed crumbs from the collar of his hoodie, voice flat and incredulous. He wasn't buying it.

"Pretty much, nonbeliever. Heretic. Oh ye of little faith. If I bothered going out in the sun I'd have some sweet shade-shaped tan lines."

"Oh," John said, and the softness in his tone showed all his surprise.

There was silence after that. Not skin-crawlingly terrible, or even uncomfortable. Simply a thing that hung, like the quiet ambiance as a couple married forty years fed ducks at the pond. If John noticed that the 'scenic route' entailed circling the same blocks again and again with a pinch of aimless driving, he didn't let on. Instead he settled back into his seat, hiding the occasional yawn behind his hand and munching away on his cookies.

"I feel like I'm pulling a piggy here by eating all these cookies," John said eventually.

"Whoa dude, ever think think about working for the government as a psychic? Straight up reading my mind there," Dave teased. “I mean come one, I buy you cookies and you have the gall to actually eat them? Rude."

"Yup, that's me. Rudey Tabootie. Going to rub it all up in your face while I'm at it," John joked.

John's seat gave a rough squeak as he leaned over the panel, his hoodie brushing along the back of Dave's hand as he shifted gears. A cookie the size of a quarter was waved in front of his nose. It smelled faintly of styrofoam and packing tape, of something tucked away in storage and long forgotten, but it was there.

"One of us, one of us," John chanted. "Come one, Dave. If you don't eat it I'm going to keep feeling like a piggy."

Dave took the cookie between his teeth at a red light, nibbled gently at the edge with no intention of truly eating it. John made a sound between a laugh and a cheer, an encouraging noise that egged Dave on. He wrapped his lips around the cookie, slowly pulled it into his mouth, pausing when John's fingers twitched and jumped back as they came into contact with his lips.

"The, uh─ the light. It's green now," John stuttered out as he pulled his hand away.

Dave eased his foot down on the gas pedal like the world hadn't become an abstract, easy to forget thought in those few short seconds. He had to remind himself to chew and swallow, although he forgot to taste. The one thing he did remember to do was pull onto the highway.

It was wide and empty and dark, no hint of the fictional traffic jam Dave had made up to prolong the drive. John didn't call him out for it, instead crinkling his bag as he pawed around in it. He was overzealous in the way that said he was hiding something. Probably covering for the fact he practically had Dave eating out of his palm.

Which was weird, yeah. It was weird in the way that the lady across the hall collected tiny, painted cows. Not weird like that one dude who made lampshades out of skin. Not bad-weird.

"Got another cookie to spare?" Dave asked.

"Depends. How much money you got?" 

"Looking to drive a hard bargain?"

"Never hurt to haggle a little," John said.

"How about I don't kick you out on the freeway at seventy miles an hour? That a good enough deal for you?"

"Done and done," John said, at the ready with another cookie.

This time, his fingers didn't flinch back when they met Dave's lips. It was a silent game, Dave decided. An unmentioned play at who would back off first. Dave wasn't about to back down on account of some not-so-bad accidental touches.

As it turned out, neither was John. He kept up his little routine, hand to bag, hand to cookie, hand to Dave's mouth. Rinse and repeat until desired results achieved. Or until the food ran out, and when it did, it didn’t stop John. He batted at the collar of Dave's shirt, hand sweeping away crumbs as he’d done to himself before.

"Watch it, dude," Dave said as John thumped him. "Get those crumbs in my lap and I'll have your hands following them."

If Dave had known then how much he'd come to want John's hands on him, he would've pulled to the shoulder, upended the crumbs in the bag on himself, and told John to hop to it. 

In the end, John finished his pat down in peace, quiet for the rest of the ride. His eyelids took to fluttering as Dave caught his exit, and by the time they'd pulled into the parking garage, his breathing was a slow, even snuffling.

Dave killed the engine and sat in silence, making out shapes in the shadows cast by flickering fluorescent lights. The stuffy heat in the car slowly slipped away, the outside chill filling its space, and John shifted in his sleep from time to time.

Dave turned to look at John, ran his eyes along his profile. All rounded, chipmunk cheeks and a gently sloping nose that sometimes twitched when he snored. He didn't stir when his seatbelt was unbuckled, or when Dave's hand fell on his shoulder. Dave squeezed John's shoulder, thumb braced against his collar bone.

"Rise and shine, Rumpelstiltskin," Dave said.

John mumbled, back arching shallowly against his seat as he started to wake. With another squeeze his eyes were opening, head turning toward the sound of Dave's voice. John went a little cross-eyed and smiley as he recognized Dave, teeth peeking from behind pink lips as he focused.

"Guess I nodded off for a second there," John said, voice hoarse and low.

"Its all good, man. Figured a little twerp like you couldn't stay up much past sunset."

"Not my fault you went and cranked the heat up all nice like that and had your lullabies playing." 

"What can I say, I'm just that sweet. Now get your ass in gear, 'cause I ain't hauling your shit up a hundred flights alone."

"Seriously? Hasn't anyone here ever heard of an escalator?" John said as he got out of the car. He stretched his arms over his head and sighed as Dave met him at the trunk.

"Chill, Snoozebert. Once we get to Chateau de Strider you can crash in my bed."

"Wow, sign me up for that. I bet you even changed the sheets last month in preparation."

"Way cute, dude. You think my bed even has sheets."

"Whatever. I know it's a Strider's sweetest dream to have me in their bed," John said, and there was that snark in his voice that made Dave's heart give a fuck and had him itching to lug John's shit up the stairs singlehanded just to show that he could.

In the end, they carried the luggage up the stairs together, their back and forth banter and empty insults echoing in the stairwell. They paused every few flights to catch their breath. John ribbed Dave about his apparent inability to go up stairs without putting both feet on each step, and Dave threatened to push him down some, but remarked he'd be doing John's teeth a favor.

And while it took them an hour and half to make it to the apartment through their overdrawn breaks, Dave enjoyed every minute of it. Enjoyed it in a way he didn't know he could, touched with an emotion he was unsure of. Something soft and small but slowly emerging, nameless and unfamiliar. But he liked it.

If had become when, trickled from months to weeks to days to minutes to seconds. And now─

'When' was now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh dang, I am super sorry it took me so long to upload this. I had it done for awhile, but was doing a lot of traveling so it was difficult for me to find the time to post it. For anyone stamping their feet at the lack of actual JohnDave, I can explain. This story was getting so long I wanted to break it into two parts. Which means this is the first part.
> 
> I already have the first chapter of the second part written up, and hopefully it won't be too long before I post it. And as I'm sure you can guess, that's when we'll get to the actual romantic stuff.

**Author's Note:**

> Haha, wow. Ages ago Nachte drew me [this totally sweet pic of Brobot](http://napalmarts.tumblr.com/post/13627071827/ahmerst-asked-for-brobot-i-complied-as-only-i), and then asked if she could have a drabble in turn. So I'm like, heck yeah you can. And she wanted fluffy JohnDave.
> 
> 16k words later I am finally starting to post this 'drabble.'


End file.
